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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244231">Wolf in Sheep's Clothing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okeirany/pseuds/Okeirany'>Okeirany</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Urban Acolades [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Creepypasta - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Parents, Alcohol, Angst, Backstory, Bullying, Cat and Mouse, Corruption, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Horror, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Patricide, Rape/Non-con Elements, School, Self-Harm, Sexual Abuse, Slenderman is just a mentioned character, So much angst, Suicide, Therapy, abusive teachers, but only for like three seconds because this is depressing, it's tragic you get the picture, romance but depressing, you're gonna need the ice cream</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:33:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,346</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okeirany/pseuds/Okeirany</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeffery Hodek-Labelle was anything from normal. He was always an outcast, but, to be frank, he didn't really care. But when the boy he's been crushing on for years finally shows up in his life, things start to look better... until things take a massive turn for the worst and soon, he's not even himself anymore.<br/>Doesn't help that he keeps seeing that THING everywhere he goes.</p><p>We all know that the original Jeff the Killer backstory was... less than optimal, so, I decided to remedy that with my grand debut. This is my first big work to ever be released on the internets.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jane Arkensaw | Jane the Killer/Original Female Character(s), Jeffrey Woods | Jeff the Killer/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Urban Acolades [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wolf in Sheep's Clothing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>WARNING: This shit is gonna get dark! There may be romance, but that's just so I can torture good 'ol Jeffy-boi even more.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Psychosis. Schizophrenia. Insomnia. Split Personality Disorder. Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder. Those are the obstacles, and we need to find ways to work around them. You understand I’m on your side, don’t you?” The woman said, looking toward me with concern in her eyes. I nodded, not really paying attention. It’s not like she understood what this was like. She could pretend all she wanted, everyone did, but they didn’t get it. My name is Jeffery Alexander Hodek-Labelle. And I don’t feel emotions most of the time. Or rather, I don’t feel emotions nearly as much as others. <br/>“Jeff, I can’t help you unless you help me, okay? You’re going to have to tell me something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, dear. This shtick yet again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Doctor, spare me the theatrics. With all due respect, I don’t believe that you truly want to help me with figuring out how to restore the peace of mind I never had; you’re just trying to earn as much filthy lucre you can in a single day.” She sighed, her eyebrows furrowing together, the sleek glasses framing her sharp, piercing eyes glinting in the light. Her eyes were brown. It wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was that she seemed to be able to see through me like glass, instantly shattering whatever walls I tried to erect about myself. She rubbed her temples, taking her glasses off for a second and wiping the right lens before placing them back on her face and glowering toward me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Jeffery, if I only wanted money, I wouldn’t have chosen to assist a patient with such a complex mind as you.” She retaliated, her voice sharp as a knife, piercing right through the cracks in my metaphorical stronghold. “I want to help you because I care about you, Jeff. I’ve known your mother for years, I’m your godmother. I wouldn’t try to exploit you for money. I know the last few years have been especially hard on you, I can’t even try to sympathize. But you need to move on. You can’t keep trying to hide like this. So please. Tell me anything that’s been going on.” She concludes, hitting home with how motherly her tone was. I let out a sigh, unsure where to begin when she adds “Have the voices’ messages changed at all?” I halt, unsure of how she was able to read me so accurately. I looked toward her, straight-faced, and opened my mouth to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The voices haven’t been telling me anything new. At least, nothing I’ve noticed. Though…” , I start, pausing slightly, unsure of how to explain this next bit, “... though, there has been a… thing… that keeps showing up. It’s not like the other demons, this one keeps showing up.” I explain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m not using the term out of fear, I’m using that word because that’s the only one that properly describes it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm… you’ve never had recurring hallucinations before… could you explain what it looks like?” Dr. Wormwood asks, opening her notebook. Unlike the other patients, she has a drawer of her desk dedicated only to the materials, resources, and data that’s necessary for me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s hard to describe. It’s rather tall, about… eight feet, I’d say is a good estimate. It also wears a suit, like it’s some form of accountant from hell. And, its skin is completely pale white. Its limbs are also elongated, like a ragdoll's. And, the most peculiar thing is that it doesn’t seem to have a face. To be honest, it looks like it crawled straight out of the pages of Dante’s Inferno.” I explain as she writes note after note rapidly, drawing a little sketch. She looks at me and asks </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would it be okay if I filed this one under ‘Tallman’ for now?” I nod, to which she writes the placeholder nickname at the top of the page, quickly slipping a red strip of paper into the page and shuts it briefly, right as her watch goes off, right on cue. She looks down toward it like she always does, and before she can finish telling me “Oh dear! Looks like we ran out of time…”, I’m already up and walking toward the door, slipping my dilapidated bag over my shoulder as I step toward and out of the door, ignoring her sigh of exasperation as I leave without even bidding her farewell.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>I step out of the tall building, quickly making my way home and keeping a brisk but steady pace all the while. I eventually reach my home. It’s big, sure, but that’s not always a good thing. Even if I can’t feel, I don’t particularly enjoy living in a massive home by myself. Not to mention, I have no help if I undergo a schizophrenic attack, so Dr. Wormwood hired a housekeeper to help take care of me. He’s nice, sure, he’s friendly. He’s got a lovely husband, and I enjoy the company, but he’s simply too caring. I can’t help but have this premonition that something bad is going to happen to him if he remains near me. I step inside and, speak of the devil, Bryce is standing there in the kitchen, cooking dinner. He hears me close the door and turns, facing toward me and waving ‘hello’. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I return the greeting before making my way up the stairwell to my bedroom. Once there, I tossed my bag onto the floor and collapsed onto my bed. I quickly pulled my phone from my pocket, opening my email and sifting through the list of school-issued messages. Nothing new, just assignments. I flick through my text inbox, quickly deleting the seventy-six texts from Bryce asking how I liked my pasta yet again. Not like he didn’t already know. I sat back up, recalling what I’d been told by my English teacher about the current assignment. Mr. Gates had assigned us all to create short stories referencing different types of media. I was supposed to use poetry. I rose from the bed, unzipping my bag and pulling out my English folder and notebook. I then slip them into my messenger bag, turning the flap shut and slinging it over my neck, the handle resting on my left shoulder and the bag at my right hip. I quickly made my way down the stairs, shouting “I’ll be back in a bit.” to Bryce, to which he gave a little two-fingered wave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slipped out the door as I threw on my hoodie, its white fabric somehow not stained at all after all these years. I stepped out into the brisk autumn air, my breath crystalizing in an icy mist in front of me. I began to step down the sidewalk, pulling my headphones up onto my ears, instantly playing the different, dark songs as the music ebbed and flowed through me. I began to slightly nod my head to the rhythm as I walked, the leaves around me sometimes twisting around in short Fall zephyrs. As I walked along, I felt a pair of eyes boring into my neck. I looked behind me slightly, my eyes landing on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> that kept showing up. I merely ignored it, continuing to walk forward in isolation, not even turning my head as it stepped closer and closer toward me, glaring at me with indignation. I needn’t have worried. I merely did as I always did, turning at the corner that led from my neighborhood to the highway, the massive figure quickly just turning back into a businessman and proceeding to walk away the second a car turned the corner. I walked along without breaking pace, casually stepping over the pothole in the sidewalk with ease, ignoring the sprinklers and stepping through their range of effect with perfect timing, my clothes still dry. I casually hopped over the tree that had fallen onto the sidewalk, landing on the trunk and hopping off of it. I landed and rolled under the swinging bat of a kid who wasn’t watching what he was doing, returning to my normal walk and slipping through the crowd of bikers that came my way, not even coming close to touching any of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I finally turned the last corner and hopped out of the way of the car that rolled into the stone wall, colliding with it, the driver getting out and beginning to roar in rage toward the heavens. I then stepped into the library and made my way toward the stairwell when I was suddenly rammed into by a large teenager from the school, my bag flying off and settling on the floor, the materials strewn about in a landslide. I didn’t even react, just bent down and began to gather my pencils when the first unexpected thing today happened. I saw someone in the corner of my eye who kneeled down and gathered my notebook and textbook, timidly handing them to me. I took them graciously, slipping them into my bag when I looked toward the person in my peripherals. Who I saw was legitimately surprising. Standing in front of me was not only the cutest kid in school but also the most popular kid in school: Samuel Merlot. The French, feminine, bespectacled, freckled, curly-haired ginger, short and adorable, Samuel Merlot. His face flushed red once he made eye contact with me, and he swallowed audibly. That explained it. He had thought I was someone else, and now he was scared I was gonna hurt him. But then he took a deep breath and said:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Jeffery! It’s nice to see you!” Not only had the fates aligned in such a way that I was able to be near the object of my affections- then again, everyone wanted a piece of him- he knew my name. More specifically, he knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> name. I’m not exactly what you would call a school celebrity. In fact, most everyone either avoids me or doesn’t know I exist. But here Sam was, greeting me in particular. I looked around, half-expecting a camera crew to jump out like on one of those silly prank shows, or to see a group of snickering teenagers who had dared Sam to do this. But, I saw neither. Even odder, when I returned his greeting, his golden eyes seemed to glow as he smiled widely, his face flushing a darker tone. He looked back toward me and asked “Would you wanna come study with me?” </span>
</p><p><span>I blinked a couple of times, trying to process what seemed impossible. I’d wager I nodded subconsciously at some point because I wound up not only stepping up the stairs directly behind the boy, but his small, soft hand firmly planted within the palm of my larger and rougher one. We arrived at the second floor of the library and I was pulled over to a chair, sat down quickly as Samuel zipped off and returned, with a mountain of books in his arms. He dropped them onto the table with a resounding thud and began to sort through them and organize them into a way that would help best with our projects. </span>See, he had Ms. McNair for his English teacher, and McNair and Gates follow the same curriculum. Sam happened to select poetry from his reference material. We could see the other students on the floor who were also struggling. One large, muscular boy smacked his chubby friend in the back of the head with a book, shouting something at him. Ryan Haynes and Keith Simmons. Across from them sat Troy Byron, with his usual stoic demeanor, face buried in a book, a pile of different versions of the Bible at his side. Of course he’d chosen the Bible. <span>I looked back toward Sam, who’s curly hair kept getting in his eyes as he looked into his textbook while he sat next to me. </span></p><p>
  <span>“You know I have hair clips, right Sammy?” A soft voice sounded. I turned to see Jane Richardson- the prettiest girl in our school, according to the majority of the male student body- clutching a small collection of mythological storybooks. Her eyes widened when she looked and saw me, then looked back toward Sam with an enthusiastic grin. “Did you tell him?!” She demanded joyfully, to which he shook his head side-to-side and waved his hands in front of his face wildly. </span>
</p><p><span>“N-No! I haven’t told him, don’t make him suspicious!!” He exclaimed. She then gleefully greeted me and the three of us began to study and write, with Sam and Jane having a conversation during it. About an hour-and-a-half pass before I got up, stating that I had to leave. Sam’s eyes widened slightly and he opened his mouth to say something before turning and glancing at Jane. She just sighed, waving him on with her hand. “C-Could I walk with you?” He asked me. I told him ‘sure’, to which he smiled and locked arms with me. </span>We walked back down to the first floor and checked out our books before departing from the building. He spoke at me quickly and happily as we walked, though I wasn’t really listening- my mind was elsewhere. The only thing that caught my attention was Sam suddenly being yanked off of me by another person, shouting in pain. I wheeled my head around, locking eyes with a muscular boy. Ryan. He had Sam’s arm gripped tightly in his hand, a cruel grin spreading on his face.</p><p>
  <span>“You know what you owe me, Sammy-boy~?” He asked, his voice cooing in a terrifying manner. His two lackeys grabbed me as I lunged forward, holding me back. Ryan slammed him against the wall, his hand compressed around Sam’s neck. Samuel kicked wildly, trying his hardest to escape, tears welling up in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” He shouted, fear in his trembling voice. Ryan glared at the protest, pulling out a pocket knife and jabbing it into Sam’s gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think you can stop me?! Don’t you remember what happened </span>
  <em>
    <span>last</span>
  </em>
  <span> time?!” Sam’s eyes widened in horror, clearly recalling something awful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In that moment... </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>... all I saw was red.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes I will update at my own rate and no I will not stop using Latin for the chapter titles.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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